


Image

by Kentrakshi (Sartorially)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Dave being a lil cutie-shit, Gen, Gym, mentions of scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3918523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sartorially/pseuds/Kentrakshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS IS FUCKING OLD AND BADLY WRITTEN, MY DUDE. DON'T JUDGE MY MERIT ON THIS CRAP.</p><p>"Sometimes," and damn was it hard to get the words out, "I kinda feel like I'm not real cool. I know I am, most've th'time. But when I'unno for sure, this makes me... feel better."</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> It's a long-standing belief with me that Bro Strider has self-image issues. More often than not, I'm told that can't be true because of how I play him to be the epitome of bara and in control.
> 
> Really, it's a bit disconcerting that people would say you can't have body dysphoria if you're fit. It's a "no matter the situation" thing, honestly.
> 
> Anyway, this is a gift for the ever-lovely shatterbrained, as proof of my affections, and in apology for being a shit. Enjoy!

Some days, he posed for himself and felt pretty damn good. He was a fucking hardbody, and let's be honest here, not many people could actually claim that with perfect certainty. Some people used a little upper to get themselves this good, which he figured worked out for some. But this? Every single fucking muscles was his. All him. All the work, condensed into a beautiful package.

Other days, he knew for a fact that he was hideous. He knew what people were thinking when they looked at him. Knew that they were laughing at him for being so ugly, so unnecessary.

The constant clank of the weights, for a moment, kept him sane. He kept his back to the mirrored wall all along the north side of the gym, eyes locked on the scarred flesh of his bicep while it flexed. The pumping of the hormones lifted his spirits, despite himself, and he could almost tune out the whining just off to his left.

With a firm set to his jaw, the weights were set down, and his eyes dragged to the boy laying on his back beside the gym bag. Dave kicked his little feet childishly, even beat the mats covering up the tile with his tiny hands. All the while, the kid whined. It was boring here, and it smelled funny. There was nothing to do except sit around and watch people sweat. Everybody was stupid-looking and he was tired of not being able to bring his games here.

God have mercy on his soul, because the elder Strider was about two seconds from popping the little guy right in the teeth.

"Lil man," he started, earning a pause in the complaints. He offered a hand, dragging the other up to his feet and taking a weight with the other, "Here, lookit this."

A little hand against his bicep, and he curled his arm slowly. That earned an honest-to-Lordy giggle. He did it again, and then took a break to explain.

"Sometimes," and damn was it hard to get the words out, "I kinda feel like I'm not real cool. I know I am, most've th'time. But when I'unno for sure, this makes me... feel better."

A little squeeze to Dave's thin arm, "I used t'be all squishy, y'know, an' now s'not even possible. S'what makes me happy, bein' able t'do this."

The boy pondered for a long moment.

"You all strong means you can get me up over your head, right?"

"Hell yeah."

"...If I get real big'n strong, can I get _you_ over _my_ head?"

That startled a laugh out of the man, and he ruffled up Dave's silky blonde hair.

"Maybe. We'll get ya started with some lil 'bells here."


End file.
